


What Do You Do For Money Honey?

by gothpandaotaku



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sam, Crying Sam Winchester, Extremely Dubious Consent, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Sam Winchester, Kinda Hooker Sam, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester, Underage Prostitution, Underage Sex, Weecest, Wincest - Freeform, let me know if I need more tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-07
Updated: 2015-08-29
Packaged: 2018-04-13 09:43:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4517103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothpandaotaku/pseuds/gothpandaotaku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam will do anything for Dean. Anything.<br/>Even sell himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Been wanting to write this for a while. Just finally got around to it.  
> DISCLAIMER: DO NOT OWN ANYYYYYYTHING.  
> Remember, this is WEECEST. EXTREMELY DUB CON. Underage. Angst. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.  
> That being said, I hope you like it!

_You workin' in bars ridin' in cars_  
_Never gonna give it for free_  
_Your apartment with a view on the finest avenue_  
_Lookin' at your beat on the street_  
_You're always pushin', shovin', satisfied with nothing_  
_You bitch you must be gettin' old_  
_So stop your life on the road_  
_All your diggin' for gold_  
_You make me wonder_  
_Yes I wonder_  
_I wonder_  
_Honey, what do you do for money_  
_Honey, what do you do for money_  
_Where do you get your kicks_

_-“What Do You Do For Money Honey” by AC/DC_

* * *

 

“Take care of your brother Sam.”

“But Dad-”

“I’ll only be gone a few days. You can handle things for that long, can’t you?”

“…Yes sir.”

“Good. See you soon, Sammy.”

And just like that, Sam was left alone with his injured brother for God knows how long. He had no confidence his father would be back when he said he would; he had a bad habit of taking longer than expected.

Two days ago they’d been on a hunt in Wisconsin. Typical werewolf hunt that should’ve been easy with all the intel they had on the sucker. But of course, Dean had to _make_ it fucking complicated by jumping in front of the damn thing when it leapt at Sam. Bastard had sustained twenty-some stitches in his abdomen and still tried to joke that he was “a motherfucking ninja, Sammy.”

Their dad had gotten wind of another hunt in Ohio, so the second Dean was sewn up he packed them up in the Impala and, not wanting to leave Dean alone when injured that badly, left them at the usual shitty motel to go hunt it himself. 

It was all so predictable Sam wanted to scream.

But it was his fault Dean was hurt anyway, so he couldn’t complain about being left behind to take care of him. He’d do it anyway.

Dean was pumped full of pain meds at the moment and probably wouldn’t wake up until the next day anyway. So Sam pulled up a chair next to where his brother lay on the single bed in the room, and settled in to wait.

* * *

 

**TWO DAYS LATER**

Dean had woken up a few times, but he was barely lucid when he did so. He occasionally mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like “Sammy” and “ya ‘kay?” Sam lulled him back to sleep with reassurances like “I’m fine, Dean. You’re the one who had to get sewn back together you idiot,” and “We’re safe, you can go back to sleep now,” while running his fingers through Dean’s short spiky hair (that was starting to feel a little greasy and he really hoped Dean would wake up before he had to venture to sponge bath territory).

He lifted up Dean’s shirt to take a look at how the multitude of stitches were doing. They looked pretty red and puffy, so he cleaned them again, wincing when Dean moaned in pain in his sleep. The pain meds were running low; they had to be frugal with them.

* * *

 

**ONE WEEK LATER**

Nine days. Their dad had been gone nine fucking days and still no word on when he’d be back. Not even a fucking call to say “I’m not dead.” The bastard didn’t answer his phone no matter how many times Sam tried.

The money John had left them ran out two days ago, and the pain medication last night. The meager supply of food they had was rapidly dwindling, even with Sam only eating one meal a day.

Sam grimaced as he wiped the sheen of sweat off Dean’s face with a cool damp washcloth. Dean’s fever had spiked a couple days ago and he hadn’t woken up since. The wound had gone from puffy and inflamed to oozing pus and painful just to look at, seemingly overnight. No matter how many times he cleaned it out with the antiseptic from the first-aid kit, nothing helped. The wound was simply infected and Dean needed antibiotics; the over-the-counter shit wasn’t going to cut it either.

He needed money, and he needed it _yesterday_.

But how was he going to pay for Dean’s medication? He might be able to fake a prescription, but there was no way he could actually afford it. Getting a job would take too long, and any place that would hire a fifteen-year-old wouldn’t pay that well anyway. The quickest option would probably be to steal it…

Next time their father decided to take off with their fake credit cards and fake insurance card Sam was going to have _words_ with him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The local hospital was pretty small, a glorified clinic really, so at first Sam thought he could be in and out, no problem.

He circled around the building, hidden by shadows and overgrown bushes. There were two guards stationed outside the front entrance and another two at the back exit. He found a tree just outside the guard’s view that had a perfect view inside the front of the building and climbed it. A quick glance showed at least _two more_ guards near the nurse’s station.

They’re in the middle of bumfuck, Ohio, why the fuck where there so many security guards? What is this, the White House?

A couple guards, sure, he could probably give them the slip. Maybe even three or four. But six, with the likely possibility of more? With the medication surely under lock and key? That was a risk he couldn’t take, not with Dean depending on him. If he fucked up again and got caught, who would take care of him? Not their dad, that was for sure.

Disgusted, Sam shuffled down the tree and made for the motel.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“Hey kid, watch where you’re fucking going.”

Sam turned and scowled at the man he’d just bumped into. “Excuse me, I think _you_ bumped into _me_.”

“Listen, smartass—Sam?”

The man took a couple steps toward him, into the yellow light of a street lamp. He appeared middle-aged, fit, with a scruffy beard; all-in-all exactly the kind of guy you’d expect skulking around alleys at one in the morning.

“Morgan?”

_“Come on Sammy, you’re a growing boy, you gotta eat all your food,” Dean grinned at him from across the booth._

_“But Deeean,” Sam whined, “I’m not hungry. I just want to get out of here and meet up with Dad already.”_

_They were stuck in the middle of Nowhere, Ohio, waiting for their father to give them the go-ahead to meet up with him on the next hunt in Michigan. Most schools started in two weeks, and Sam wanted to be sure he was enrolled **somewhere** in time. _

_“Sam, I’m serious. When was the last time you cleared your plate?” They were in a freaking Denny’s and Dean wanted to have this conversation now?_

_“It’s nothing. Can we just get the check and go?”_

_“But-”_

_“ **Dean**.” Sam levelled his gaze at his brother and made sure to add a dash of the puppy eyes he knew his brother couldn’t resist._

_Dean sighed. “Fine. We’ll talk about this later. I’m going to hit the head and then pay the bill and we’ll be out of here.”_

_Sam watched his brother leave and gave a sigh of relief when he was out of sight. He loved his brother for caring so much, he really did (and that was the fucking problem right?), but sometimes Dean could be just a tad pigheaded when it came to what he thought was best for Sam._

_“You’re Sam Winchester, John’s son, right?”_

_Sam looked up to see a tall middle-aged man he’d never lain eyes on before approach his table, dressed in clothes that were casual, but subtly hinted at designer origins. “Who’s asking?” Sam asked wearily._

_“Oh, I’m sorry, please excuse my terrible manners,” the man made an exaggerated horrified expression, “I’m Morgan Hilcox, a friend of your father’s. I give him a hand when he needs medical supplies due to his, uh, **unusual profession**.”_

_The youngest Winchester blinked. Did this man know about Hunters? Was that what he was trying to convey? Morgan winked at him and held out a hand to shake. Sam hesitated only a second before taking it. Morgan’s fingers practically caressed his own in a way that made his skin scrawl for the one second that it took Dean to shove Morgan out of the way._

_“Don’t touch my brother,” Dean hissed, fixing a glare so piercing on Morgan that lesser men would be brought to their knees. He turned to Sam. “Let’s go. NOW.”_

_“But Dean-” Sam looked up at Morgan, who appeared more amused than anything._

_“ **NOW** , Sam.” Dean reached into the booth and forcefully grabbed Sam’s arm and pulled him out of the booth. He didn’t let go of Sam until he was shoved into the passenger seat of the Impala, safe and sound. _

_“Dean, what the hell was that about? Who was that man? He said he knows Dad…” Sam bombarded Dean with questions the second he climbed behind the wheel._

_“He sells medical supplies and junk to Dad for a good price and doesn’t ask any questions. No fuckin’ idea if he knows about what’s really out there.” For the first time Sam noticed how tense his brother was. His fingers were locked around the steering wheel in a death grip so tight his knuckles were white as he careened out of the parking lot probably ten times faster than was safe._

_“I’m going to say this once, Sammy: don’t go near him. Don’t talk to him. Don’t look at him. Don’t go near him with a fucking ten foot pole; don’t even be in the same godforsaken town as him. And most importantly, **don’t ever be alone with him. Ever.** You understand me?”_

_Honestly, Dean’s tone and the intensity of his gaze kind of scared Sam. But he trusted his brother implicitly and would do anything he said. Anything for Dean. “Of course. Whatever you say.”_

_Some of the tension left Dean’s shoulders. “Good. That’s good. Don’t ever forget that.”_

_Dean watched Sam like a hawk the rest of the time they were in town._

“So you _do_ remember me,” Morgan smiled brightly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Uh, yeah, look, I have to meet up with my Dad right now, so…” Sam turned to leave, but only made it a few steps.

“How’s your brother doing? I heard he was lain up in bed, recovering from a pretty nasty accident.”

He whirled around and approached Morgan slowly, dangerously, that left no doubt what he’d been trained to do: kill. “ _How did you know that?”_

The tall man smirked, seemingly unimpressed. “Oh Sam, how I do love that fire in your eyes. Let’s just say I have eyes all over this little backwater town.”

“Stay the fuck away from us. Or else.”

“But I can help you, Sam. Give you any supplies you need for your ailing brother… for one low price.” The hairs on the back of Sam’s neck stood on end with the force of Morgan’s leer.

“You know where to find me!” Morgan called gleefully after Sam’s retreating form. “If you don’t, your brother will _die_!”

* * *

 

**THE NEXT NIGHT**

Sam’s stomach growled loudly, practically echoing throughout the silent room. How many days had it been since he’d eaten anything other than saltines? And those had finished yesterday. Fuck, he was feeling nauseous.

He looked up at his brother from his spot on the floor. Dean was so pale, the _sick_ kind of pale, thinner than when he got here, and still. Alarmingly still. He hadn’t so much as twitched a finger in three days. He looked like a fucking corpse.

The silence had become nearly deafening, reverberating throughout the tiny room so loud it was hard to think, so Sam had taken up talking to Dean’s prone form. Or, sometimes, himself. It helped him forget how claustrophobic he felt ever since he’d watched his brother go down under the claws of the werewolf.

“Dean… I’m not gonna lie. You’re not doing so hot. You need help, help that I can’t give you. There’s… this guy who says he can help you, but he wants me to—wants me to—but you _need_ me to do this. If I don’t, you’ll… probably fucking _die_.”

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat that was suddenly threatening to choke him. On legs shakier than they should have been, he stood and made his way over Dean’s side. It was odd; Dean’s face was becoming blurrier and blurrier by the second. Needing to _feel_ his brother, he ran a thumb over Dean’s sunken-in cheek.

_“If you don’t, your brother will die!”_

“I’m sorry, Dean… so sorry. I—I have to do this, you know? And it’s not even _what_ he wants me to do, it’s… it’s fucking disgusting, is what it is. I wanted _you_ to be my first. See? Told you it’d make you want to vomit,” Sam laughed to himself bitterly. “But, I’d take that if you woke up for me. I’d even take you yelling and punching me for just thinking about it. Dean?”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The night was colder than he thought it would be, biting at his exposed ankles because his jeans were too short. He stuck his hands in his pockets in an attempt to warm them. He could see his breath, and watched the way it puffed out before evaporating into the darkness again and again, just for something to do until Morgan decided to show the hell up.

At 1:35 a.m. a sleek black Lexus pulled up directly in front of the alley Sam was standing in.

Sam got in without a single word.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Morgan had rented a room in the swankiest, fanciest, most expensive hotel around; about an hour away from the fleabag motel Sam and Dean were staying at. The drive there was filled with silence so profound you could probably hear a pin drop.

The smug little smirk Morgan wore never left, and it made Sam want to punch it off him. The thought comforted him, and he spent the ride to the hotel imagining the many, many things he would like to do to a man like Morgan.

Apparently the asshole must have heard Sam’s stomach growling, because before heading to Morgan’s room they stopped at the hotel restaurant. It was as opulent as the rest of the place, and each _entrée_ easily boasted a price tag in the fifty dollar range.

When Sam refused to order anything, glaring at Morgan as the waiter repeatedly said “Sir? Sir?” Morgan took the liberty of ordering for him. A fucking filet mignon. His lips twitched up, giving Sam a look like he should be fucking _grateful_.

Sam had no idea he could sink this low. He must have discovered a whole new level of low at this point. But when the waiter set that _warm, juicy,_ cut of meat in front of him, he literally could not resist for long. The scent wafted up his nostrils, invading his senses so that the filet mignon was all he could see, smell, _taste_. Sam’s mouth watered and again he was reminded that he hadn’t had a proper meal in _days_.

It made him feel _sick_ picking up the fork for the first time. Showing how desperate he was. After a few bites it didn’t matter anymore.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

The door to the hotel room clicked closed. Sam stood there in the middle of the room, trying to distract himself with dissecting the extravagant décor of golds and reds. It didn’t work.

“On the bed.”

Every fiber of Sam’s being _ached_ to fight, to scream, to run. To not let himself be a fucking puppet for this pervert.

But that’s exactly what he did.

“Take off your clothes—slowly.”

The first vestiges of cold dread crept over him. He could feel his cheeks heat against his will as he pulled his hoodie over his head, then his shirt; followed by jeans. But his veins felt like ice.

He hesitated at his boxers.

“ _Off.”_

Blinking rapidly and swallowing heavily, Sam complied, pulling them down in one fell motion to get it over with. Like ripping off a band aid. His heart raced, spreading the ice faster and faster throughout his body so that he couldn’t feel anything at all.

And then Morgan was naked.

On top of him.

Reaching for a bottle on the nightstand _(lube, a voice in the back of his mind told him)_.

Slick fingers _inside of him_.

_Too many._

_Something much, much larger, **splitting him open.**_

**_It burns._ **

**_Pain._ **

**_Pain pain pain pain pain._ **

_“Oh yeah, yeah, yeah,” Morgans grunts above him. A flash of something silver and sharp._

**_Agony._ **

**_Red._ **

**_Agony._ **

_He thinks he hears screaming (from where? It couldn’t possibly be himself could it?). But then he can’t hear it anymore **he can’t breathe he can’t breathe**_

**_So heavy._ **

**_Black._ **

* * *

 

Sam wakes up in the backseat of the Lexus. He can tell immediately by the rusty stench and the hot stickiness that he’s bleeding. Badly. But not fatally, so does it really matter?

About ten minutes later the Lexus pulls to a stop. To his surprise the back door opens; they must be back at the motel? He tries to sit up but Morgan grabs him by the collar and throws him on the sidewalk. It hurts so bad he knows he’s most likely crying a little.

“Here’s what we agreed upon. I even gave you a cash bonus because you were such a good fuck,” Morgan sneered as he threw a medium-size duffel bag at Sam’s feet.

“Call me if you ever require my _services_ again. You know where to find me… I have a feeling you won’t be forgetting me anytime soon.”

The squeal of tires and he was gone, but Sam could still hear his laugh.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

It took Sam half an hour to muster the strength just to stand. Another fifteen minutes to make his way to their room. More time wasted. Who knew how long he’d been with Morgan. Dean could be dead for all he knew.

But when he stumbled in, keeping along the wall to stay upright, he could see the shallow rise and fall of Dean’s chest and a weight fell off his shoulders. He could still make this right. He could still fix what was his fault in the first place. _He could save Dean this time._

_It could all be worth it._

Sam unpacked the duffel bag and raced to set up the IV. The second Dean was crammed full of antibiotics he felt his own eyelids droop. But there was one more thing he needed to take care of before he could fall into the blissful abyss of sleep. He glanced at the trail of blood he’d left from the door to Dean’s bed.

He made his way to the bathroom, where he could fall apart in peace.

* * *

 

“Dean? …Dean? Come on, Dean?”

That was Sam’s voice. It was annoying. He just wanted to sleep. But it was _Sam_ , so he should probably listen?

“I’m up… I’m up.” Dean rasped. “Why do I smell… old gym socks?”

“Because you stink.”

His eyelids felt like they were weighed down with cement, but he managed to get them open. He blinked until Sam’s blurry face became clear. He looked tired. Really, really tired, and really, really thin.

“Hey Sam, what-” Dean tried to sit up and agony wracked his entire body.

“DON’T try to sit up! You’re hurt, okay?” Sam helped ease him back down. “Hold on, I’ll get you some more pain meds.”

“Where’s dad?” Dean asked while Sam shuffled through an unfamiliar duffel bag.

“He’s on a hunt-”

“What? Where? Who’s on the hunt with him?”

“No one could-”

“You let him go on a hunt _alone_?” Dean snapped. “I swear, if this is about that wanting to live a normal life crap—you’re fucking selfish, you know that?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's the second chapter, over two weeks late. Sorry. :P  
> Thank you anyone and everyone who has read this story, kudos-ed, and commented! XD  
> This chapter is entirely from Dean's point of view. Unfortunately, I don't think it's as good... DX

**SIX MONTHS LATER**

“Dad, hold on, I can’t hear you—you want us to meet you _where_? Ohio? Where in— _that_ town again? Come on, it’s in the middle of nowhere! Fine, fine. See ya in a couple days.”

Dean sighed and glanced at his little brother sleeping in the passenger seat. His head lolled towards Dean’s shoulder; a little bit of drool visible on the corner of his mouth. It was adorable. He had half a mind to stick his finger in Sam’s ear, but he didn’t have the heart to wake him. Sam hadn’t been sleeping well lately, tossing and turning in his sleep (when he could get it) and up until all hours of the morning.

He switched the radio to a soft rock station and smiled when Sam’s head fell onto his shoulder.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

He’d just pulled into the parking lot of a motel that seemed good enough to stay a couple days in, when Sam stirred and peered up at him with sleepy eyes. Dean had to take a moment to stamp down… _something_ he should decidedly _not_ be feeling.

“Where are we?” Sam murmured, rubbing at his eyes like he used to as a child. His hazel eyes took in the parking lot, but it could have been any parking lot of any hotel in America for all he knew.

A tall, muscled, sixteen year old boy should not look this cute.

“We’re in Bumfuck, Ohio, man, waiting on Dad-”

Sam froze in the middle of reaching for the door handle, suddenly wide awake. “You—you don’t mean that s-same town in O-Ohio from s-six months ago, r-right?”

“Um, yeah… Sam, what’s wrong?” Sam was impossibly still. Dean didn’t think he was even breathing. “ _Sam_?”

Hazel eyes slowly focused on him, peering up at him with an anxious edge. Scared. “W-we were just here. Six months ago. Why are we _here_? W-why?’

Now Dean was starting to get scared too. He didn’t like the way Sam’s breaths were coming in short erratic gasps. “Hey, you need to calm down. Deep breaths. What’s wrong?”

“Why are we here?” Sam repeated, voice shaking so bad he could hardly get the words out.

“We’re meeting dad here in a day or two. He finished the hunt and needs more medical supplies-”

“I need to go to the rest room,” Sam mumbled before taking off faster than Dean thought possible in his nervous state.

Six months ago, he would have followed Sammy without hesitation and demanded answers until he got them. And he would have. He knew exactly how to make his brother talk, and _want_ to talk. Usually, all it took was concern, a little nudge, and a touch. Six months ago, he would have _known_ , instinctively, what his brother was thinking or feeling.

But not now. Now, he has no fucking clue what’s going through that geek brain of Sam’s. And he doesn’t like it one bit.

He remembers the date (March 16) because it was the last time Sam touched him. Really touched him. He remembers Sam cleaning his wounds with a gentle touch, and running his fingers feather-light through his hair when he thought Dean was asleep.

All that just… stopped, after that night. Sam all but refused to touch him, or anyone, any more than strictly necessary. These days he kept to himself and locked himself in whatever room or space was designated as his.

He would never admit it out loud, but he misses his little brother. His _real_ little brother. His talkative, bright, pure, kind, cute, clingy little brother.  Not this sullen, reserved, emo kid.

_Jesus, am I really whining and moaning over the fact that my little brother isn’t paying enough attention to me? Seriously?_

* * *

 

The motel they were staying in turned out to be the same one he and Sam had stayed at the last time they were in town. He knew because he saw Sam’s flinch as they entered the place.  The only room available was even one with a king bed instead of two twins. Just to make the whole situation even more uncomfortable, obviously.

“Soooo…” Dean started, setting his duffle down on the floor of their room while Sam did the same, “since we have nothing to do but wait for once, did you want to look around the town at all? Maybe see if they have a used book store you can geek out over?”

“No thanks. I just want to stay here until Dad comes to get us.”

“Um, okay,” Dean muttered, running his hand through his hair in frustration. Since when had it become so hard to talk to _Sam_?

He found that the hotel had a selection of movies you could order on the television, and he picked _Raider of the Lost Ark_. Because, awesome. And he didn’t want to leave Sam here alone to brood, or whatever.

Slowly but surely, the movie seemed to capture Sam’s interest. He had been sitting in the lone chair in the room, but he tentatively made his way to the bed for a better view of the screen. Dean pretended not to notice the way he inched closer and closer every few minutes.

By the end of the movie Sam’s head rested on Dean’s chest, snoring softly as he slept.

Dean simply pulled the covers over them and pulled Sam even closer, relishing in the warmth he’d been missing for so long.

* * *

 

He woke up cold and alone. There was shuffling coming from the bathroom, so he didn’t have to guess or panic about where his little brother was. Blinking open bleary eyes and moving at a pace a snail would call slow, he made his way to the bathroom. He needed to piss.

Dean rapped on the door. “Sam, open up, I need to piss.”

“Gimme a minute.”

“But Saaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaam,” Dean whined.

“Hold on!”

Dean waited approximately ten more seconds before thinking _‘fuck it’_ and opening the door.

“What the _fuck_ Dean,” Sam screeched, racing to pull his pants on. “GET OUT!” He was still dripping wet from his shower and Dean had to swallow heavily several times, mouth suddenly dry as fucking Death Valley at high noon.

“I had to take a piss,” Dean said lamely. He tried to force his eyes away, to look at something else, anything else, but they seemed to be glued to the drops of water running down Sam’s toned abs. _Fuck._

“You couldn’t wait one fucking minute?” Sam snapped. He picked up a towel to dry his hair with more force than necessary.

“Your concept of ‘one minute’ differs greatly from mine.”

Sam rolled his eyes before stretching to grab another towel from the cabinet above the sink, his jeans falling lower on his hips. A darker, rougher patch of skin was revealed on Sam’s left hip bone. It almost looked like a scar of some sort… but that couldn’t be right. Sam had never been injured there. Dean remembered every cut, scrape, bruise, hang nail, and broken bone Sam had ever sustained, probably better than Sam did. He could recall every time he failed to protect his brother with startling clarity.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, voice dropping low, pointing to Sam’s hip.

Sam straightened and backed away like he’d been burned. “It’s nothing,” he hissed, and stalked out of the room like it was on fire.

They spent the rest of the day in complete silence.

* * *

 

The next afternoon Dean’s cell phone rang, nearly making him fall off the bed in surprise. He scrambled to find the damn thing, sleep-addled from taking a nap.

“Hey, Dad,” he flipped open the phone. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sam look his way for the first time since the bathroom incident. It was something, at least.

“I’ll be there around six o’ clock tonight. Don’t go anywhere. Oh, and the hunt was a cinch.”

“Yes sir. Glad to hear it. See you— _click_ —later.”

“What did Dad say?” Sam asked quietly from the chair, avoiding looking Dean in the eyes (as had become his habit).

“He’ll be here at six.”

“Good. Hopefully we can get out of this fucking town for good.”

True to his word, John arrived at the motel five minutes before the motel clock ticked six. “Hey boys,” John greeted them with a smile. The hunt really must have gone well.

“Hey Dad,” Dean smiled back, his father’s smile contagious. He was just happy to see John happy for once.

“Hi Dad,” Sam threw him a tight smile, then went back to staring at the parking lot outside the window. He ignored the puzzled look on John’s face, who was used to being greeted with more enthusiasm from his youngest son when he returned from a hunt.

“Are we going to be staying here tonight or are we taking off now?” Dean asked for his brother. He knew Sam was anxious about staying in this town for some strange reason.

“We’ll leave in the morning. My contact is meeting me here in a little bit to sell me some medical supplies.”

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

Their father answered the door when three consecutive knocks filled the silent room.

“Morgan. Just let me grab my first aid kit and we can get this moving,” John shook his hand before heading out into the parking lot.

Dean scowled when he saw the tall middle-aged man being led in. he hated that fucker more than just about anything—more than witches, more than a diner without beer _or_ pie.

_Dean? That you? What’s a fourteen year old doing out here so late at night?” Dean looked up to see the guy he’d met that afternoon who sold his Dad medical supplies or something._

_“What’s a middle-aged mandoing out here so late at night?” Dean retorted._

_“Couldn’t sleep,” Morgan said with a small smile and went to stand next to Dean against the cool brick of the gas station. Close enough the lengths of their bodies touched. Dean didn’t know why, but his skin crawled the moment they made contact. He took a subtle step away from Morgan._

_“Same, I guess.” Sam had wanted **Dad** to help him with his homework that night. Dean hadn’t felt needed, and that pissed him off. _

_“Did you want to play at the arcade? Is that why you’re out here?” Morgan asked, obviously noticing Dean staring at the arcade across the street._

_Dean simply shrugged, not feeling the need to explain himself to one of his Dad’s weird friends._

_“Did you need some cash?” Morgan persisted._

_Against his better judgement, Dean’s ears perked up. “What are we talking?”_

_“One gig. One night. Hundreds of dollars. It’ll hardly cost you anything at all.”_

_Dean felt a warm, sweaty hand caress his thigh through rough denim, slowly making its way to palm the front of his jeans. In the next instant Morgan was shoved roughly against the wall, head making an audible crack as it bounced against the brick. The blade of a knife sharp biting against his throat._

_“I don’t want any part in your sick, twisted, disgusting games, you fucking pervert. Come near me, or God forbid, my brother, ever again and I will fucking **kill** you.” Dean snarled, pressing the knife in deeper until a trickle of blood spilled onto the back of his hand._

_“I don’t know, that brother of yours… he’ll be quite fuckable in a few years, I can tell.” Morgan sneered._

_Dean pulled his fist back and punched Morgan in the face fast as lightning, knocking out a few teeth. He didn’t even feel bad about shoving his head into the wall again for good measure, knocking him out._

“Hey Dean, can you give me a hand?” John called from the parking lot.

“But Dad—“ He looked at his brother, frozen by the window like a deer caught in the headlights.

“Now, Dean!”

Dean shot Morgan a threatening glare that promised blood before following his father. “What?”

“Help me find the first aid kit so I can see what supplies I’m low on.”

He dug through the trunk of the Impala, careful not to let his father see him roll his eyes, as fast as physically possible, eager to get back to Sam. His eyes barely passed over the clutter in the trunk, moving on auto pilot. A weird, tight feeling in his gut was making itself _very_ apparent and his heart raced for what should be no reason.

“Aha! Found it!” John held the white case up triumphantly. This time Dean couldn’t help but roll his eyes. He practically ran back to the room in his haste to see his brother.

“Tell me, did you miss me, Sam?” Dean heard Morgan whisper as he leaned in close to Sam’s ear. A hand caressed Sam’s thigh while he licked a trail up Sam’s neck. Sam trembled visibly, obviously too scared to even move an inch.

Morgan must be a witch. That was the only plausible explanation why Dean couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.  He could only stand there and watch, screaming inside his head because he couldn’t lift a finger.

_No._

_NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO  NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO_

“I found it, Morgan,” John walked into the room, past Dean’s frozen stiff form, breaking the spell.

Morgan took several quick steps back before he was in John’s field of vision. He spared Sam one last lecherous glance before following John back out the door so they could conduct their business. Dean thought he saw him wink when the pervert passed by him. 

He had a brief thought that he should warn his father about that man, that he was a goddamn witch that needed to be hunted, that the next hunt was _right in front of their eyes._ His stomach rebelled before he could think about it clearly, barely making it to the toilet in time.

The contents of his stomach came back up, violently. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes, body shaking with the force of it.

Sam—his Sammy had—with Morgan— _purge_

Morgan had—to his Sammy—done _that_ to him— _purge_

Hurt him— _purge_

Oh God, Sammy— _purge_

No, no, no, not Sammy— _purge_

Why Sammy— _purge_

Dean was pretty sure he threw up everything he ate in the past fucking _week_. When he thought he was done (for the moment at least) his body slid to the floor, boneless. He couldn’t think. Maybe his brain was somewhere in that toilet along with his stomach.

 He just lay there. Not thinking. Even breathing made him nauseous.

A knock at the door made him reluctantly crack an eye open. “Dean?” Sam’s tentative voice reached easily through the old wood. He tried to turn the knob when he got no response. “Dean. Why is the door locked? Dean! What’s wrong? Answer me!”

He didn’t have the energy.

“Dean! You’ve been in there for hours!”

Huh. When did that happen?

“I _will_ pick the lock if you don’t come out right the fuck now,” Sam threatened. “I’m serious!”

Well, Sam was going to have to follow through on his threat, because his body wouldn’t listen to him at the moment. Morgan’s spell must have affected him more than he thought.

The soft clicks of a lock being picked.

“Dean?” Sam whispered, and when Dean opened his eyes Sam was kneeling in front of him. “What’s going on? Talk to me.” He spoke as if he was talking to a frightened animal. “Are you hurt?”

Something inside Dean snapped.

“Hurt? You’re the one who…”

“Who _what_ , Dean? What did I do _this_ time?”

“ **He hurt you**!” Dean roared, suddenly finding the strength to stand, even if his legs were still a little shaky. “Morgan hurt you, and you didn’t say a damn word about it. Why didn’t you say anything, Sammy? Why didn’t you say anything? Why…why did you…”

“So you… saw that, huh?” Sam mumbled, looking down at the tiled floor like it held the secrets of the universe.

“Oh, I fucking saw it. I just couldn’t _make any kind of sense_ ofit.”

“Dean, you don’t understand. I—I _had_ to! I didn’t have any choice!”

“Did that pervert force you, Sam? He did, didn’t he?” Dean’s voice dropped low, almost a growl.

Sam was still on his knees on the floor, looking at anything but his brother. His silence told Dean all he needed to know.

Dean stomped out of the room. Sam followed on his heels. He grabbed Dean’s sleeve and spun him around, tears falling freely.

“He **paid** me, okay? Is that what you wanted to hear? That your little brother whores himself out when he needs fast cash?”

And then it clicked. He’d been injured pretty bad six months ago; Sam left to care for him, alone. He didn’t remember seeing their fake insurance card or fake prescriptions for the heavy-duty antibiotics that he’d needed after his wound had gotten infected (or so Sam had told him; it was all pretty hazy). There had even been a shiny new IV bag to administer them. They didn’t have that kind of crap in their duffels. How had Sam managed to snag all that stuff? His saint of a little brother would never stoop to stealing it, certainly.

So _of course_ Sam would sell himself. That was the only logical explanation. Right. He couldn’t let his big brother die, even though Dean’s life _wasn’t fucking worth it_. He wasn’t worth it, and now Sam was paying the price because he was stupid enough to get injured on a hunt—

“It’s my fault,” Dean breathed.

“No. No, you’re not going to do this,” Sam shook his head. “You’re not going to put this on yourself. I made the choice because I had to save you, and I don’t regret it one bit. I’d do it again—where are you going? Dean! NO! NO!”

Sam tried to pull Dean back but his brother just shook him off like it was nothing.

The Impala rumbled briefly before taking off into the night.

* * *

 

He knew where Morgan would be staying. A pompous asshole like that, he would want nothing better than the best of the best. The closest four-star hotel was an hour away so he drove the Impala as fast as she could go in that direction.

With a little distraction, he was able to sneak behind the front desk and search their computer for Morgan’s room number. He found the room, 419, easily enough, and picked the lock in no time at all. The front room was empty when he walked in. A cloud of steam emitted from the open bathroom door, shower running noisily.

Dean silently strode into the bathroom without a second thought. He moved with the efficiency of a hunter stalking its prey.

The hunter pulled back the shower curtain and dragged its prey out kicking and screaming. Screaming perfectly, until he put his hands around Morgan’s throat. Just before it got to the point where Morgan was about to die, he let go. Gave him a second to breathe. Then punched him. Again. Again. And again. Feeling bones crack and shatter against his fist gave him a rush.

“Remember what I told you, Morgan? I fucking _warned_ you not— _punch—_ to— _punch—_ go _—punch—_ near _—punch-_ my _—punch-_ brother _._ I **told** you that I’d **kill** you.”

Morgan was begging. Pleading. Crying.

It was all music to Dean’s ears.

He brought out the knife strapped to his belt and grinned at the terrified expression on Morgan’s face.

“Tell me, Morgan, was Sam _scared_ too when you did _that_ to him?”

* * *

 

“Dean? Where were you? You know you’re supposed to be keeping an eye on your brother when I’m not around.” John eyed his son suspiciously when he returned to the motel at two in the morning. He didn’t appear drunk at least, so he hadn’t been at a bar.

Dean strode towards his father leaning against the door to their room, whistling a familiar Led Zeppelin song. “Just taking care of business.”

“Holy shit, is that… blood? Dean, are you hurt?” John frantically checked Dean over for injures after seeing a streak of red on his jacket.

“It’s not mine, Dad. I’m fine.”

John paused, weighing Dean’s words and eyes that seemed a little too bright. “What did you do?”

“I hunted a monster. It’s what we do, right?”

“Answer me. _Now_.”

And Dean told him.

XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXx

“Dean? Where’d you go? Where’s Dad? What happened? Are you okay—is that blood? Oh my god, you’re hurt—“

Dean put a finger to Sam’s lips, shushing him. “Sam, slow down. I can barely keep up with you when you talk that fast. Dad got another room for himself. No, I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood. I just took care of some business, okay?” He palmed his little brother’s cheek when he noticed how worried he was.

Sam leaned into the touch. “I’m sorry about the things I said before. Can we just forget about it? Please?”

“Yeah, okay. But only because _he_ is never going to bother you again. Ever. Trust me.” Dean let his body move on its own, because if he thought about it he knew he wouldn’t have the courage to lean in those few inches and kiss his little brother.

* * *

 

“Call it.”

Nurse Jenna nodded. “Time of death, 3:07 a.m.”

A sheet was pulled over John’s Doe’s battered, bruised, lacerated body.

 


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the epilogue to tie it all up. That one scene in the first chapter will finally make sense, I hope.   
> Once again, thank you!

Dean kissed a trail down Sam’s chest, worshipping every bit of exposed skin. His little brother’s body was blushing a lovely pink. It tasted just as sweet as he’d imagined.

When Sam arched his back as Dean swirled his tongue around a nipple, he took the opportunity to swiftly remove Sam’s sleep pants, oblivious to the startled gasp and stuttered “D-Dean, wait!”

His trail of kisses drew lower and lower, reaching Sam’s groin area that he fully intended to worship properly, and paused. Not believing what he was seeing, because it couldn’t _possibly_ be real. It was too cruel. _No one_ was that heartless.

On Sam’s inner thigh two letters were carefully inscribed into Sam’s skin, probably by a very fine, very sharp tool like a scalpel: M. H.

_Morgan Hilcox._

Already knowing what he would find, Dean slowly turned to look at Sam’s left hip bone. Another pair of initials, these ones larger and rougher; not quite as well healed.

Several moments pass in tense silence before Dean’s sure he’s not about to retch all over the bed. A vast, icy anger spreads through his veins, taking the place of the shocked numbness from before.

“I’m going to kill him all over again,” Dean grits out, nostrils flaring, barely breathing. He can barely contain the anger inside. It’s so boundless, so limitless, that it’s trying to escape.

Hands shaking, Sam grabs for his pants. Bangs cover his face so that Dean can’t see it, but he knows Sam’s crying by his trembling shoulders. And just like that, the ice in his veins thaws. He still wants to kill Morgan with his bare hands over and over again, but he knows what _really_ matters here. Sam.

“Sammy, come back here, shhhh. It’s okay. I’m not mad at you. I could never be mad at you.” Dean pulls Sam into his arms before he can leave and he’s sobbing into his neck, clinging like he’s never going to let go. Dean doesn’t want him to. “Baby Boy. I love you. Shhh.”

And then he kisses every scar with tenderness.


End file.
